


Everything For You

by g33kyclassic



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Mutant, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Fluffy, M/M, soft erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic
Summary: Charles and Erik have been friends and roommate for a couple years.  Erik, a struggling artist, finally gets his big break: a gallery art show.  Will Charles like Erik's art?  Will Erik finally confess his feelings?
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 21
Kudos: 112





	Everything For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkoptics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkoptics/gifts).



> Written in response to a prompt by the lovely pinkoptics: picking fuzz off their clothing From a list of ordinary things that become intimate when you love someone. 
> 
> My response may have wandered a bit from the original prompt, but I think the gist of it is still there :)

“Stand still.”

Erik gritted his teeth and picked a spot on the wall to stare at as Charles examined him from shoulders to ankles, brushing off lint and picking off extraneous pieces of… well something… as he went.

“How long has this thing been stuffed into the back of your closet?” Charles asked.

“Um… a while?” Erik answered lamely.

Probably more than a while really. He might have pulled this suit out for his sister’s graduation, but that had been years ago, before he’d even moved into Charles’ place.

“You should have told me about your show sooner. I would have sent this to get cleaned.”

“When exactly would you have had time to do that?” Erik queried.

Charles had to be the busiest person he had ever met. Teaching classes at Columbia, spending absurd hours at the lab doing research, staying until the janitors kicked him out of his office typing up journal articles, and still accompanying Erik every weekend to the Mutant Youth Center to volunteer, teaching teenagers everything from chess to how to control their mutations.

“I have my ways.” Charles replied, brow arched.

“There’s no way I would have bothered you with cleaning the suit, but I should have told you about the show earlier. You are coming, right?”

“Of course I’m coming. I am annoyed that my roommate and best friend didn’t tell me about the biggest show of his professional career until, oh, four hours ago – but there is no way I’m missing your triumph.”

Looking down at Charles, picking bits of fluff off his old dusty suit, doing his best to make Erik as presentable as possible, Erik felt his heart lurch in his chest. He couldn’t quite figure out why he hadn’t told Charles about the show until today, scant hours before he had to leave to meet with the gallery director and make sure everything was perfectly set up for the show tonight. Charles was, however unbelievable it may be, his best friend and biggest supporter. By all rights, they should never even have met.

Erik, a thirty year old ex-mechanic who’d quit his job to start a new career as an artist and Charles, twenty six year old academic genius and one of the youngest professors to ever be employed at Columbia. Two opposites living together because of a combination of luck and misfortune.

The luck had been Erik’s. Finding a posting on Craigslist for an ‘Artist’s Apartment’ listed with a very reasonable monthly rent, Erik had jumped at the chance to see the place. He’d arrived to find what had to be the most perfect space for an artist – huge open living area, giant windows, concrete flooring, brick walls, 16 foot high ceilings. He’d also met Charles, in all his khaki pants and cardigan wearing academic glory. Charles had happily prattled on about how his sister was an artist and had been using the apartment, and how she’d kept everything open to make it accessible for him, but now she was in Paris with no plans to return to New York for at least a year.

That had been over two years ago.

The misfortune had been Charles’. He’d been in charge of renting out Raven’s apartment and had been happy to lease it to Erik. He’d been the perfect absentee landlord; never bothering Erik, always on top of sending a repairman when needed, never unexpectedly increasing Erik’s rent like some of the shady characters Erik’s had dealt in the past. Then, six months into his lease, Charles had shown up on Erik’s doorstep one night, soaked to the bone and dragging one sad looking suitcase and a backpack. It was one of the most pathetic sights Erik had ever encountered.

After ushering Charles in, giving him time to change into dry clothes and making him a hot cup of cocoa, Erik had found himself on his couch with Charles, who had explained, cheeks flushed, and voice apologetic, his current unfortunate circumstances.

Apparently, Charles was rich. Erik did not find this piece of information particularly surprising. Charles looked rich, he talked like he was rich and he dressed like he was rich. Charles’ wealth was a given. That he had horrible relatives who had kicked him out of his home and were suing him for all was worth, which had left him with all his assets frozen and no where to live was more of a shock. Charles owned Erik’s apartment – outright. He’d bought it for his sister five years ago and it was currently his only option for living accommodations (Charles’ words, not Erik’s).

Erik couldn’t have kicked the man out if he tried. Charles looked like a puppy, a small blue eyed puppy, who’d been kicked out into the street and left to fend for himself and had no idea what to do with himself. Erik might not have been the most friendly, easy going guy, but his mother hadn’t raised him to be a jerk. He’d told Charles in no uncertain terms that he was more than welcome to stay as long as he needed to and had then gone to clear out the spare room (which had until that moment been full of sculpting tools and materials). Charles had thanked him profusely, sworn up and down he wouldn’t be a bother and then passed out on the bed within minutes.

Two years later, they were still living together. Perhaps at first glance they were unlikely roommates, but somehow it all worked. It worked kind of perfectly, if Erik was being honest. Erik got up early every morning to run and by the time he got back to the apartment, Charles was always up, a cup of tea in his hand and a steaming hot container of French press coffee on the counter for Erik. Charles didn’t care that Erik didn’t own a television and took up most of the living room with his sculpting work. Instead, Charles would coax Erik away from his work in the evenings and they would watch documentaries on Charles’ laptop, propped up on Charles’ very fancy hospital grade bed, eating popcorn.

Charles was the best roommate Erik had ever had. He was also the best friend Erik had ever had. When Erik wanted to quit sculpting because he was sick of taking commissions for things he wasn’t inspired to sculpt, Charles was there to sit beside him and pull him through with encouraging words and a glass of delicious scotch. If Erik’s mom stopped over to fuss over him, take over the apartment, and complain about both Erik and Charles’ single status, Charles was always there, effortlessly changing the topic and making his mother smile.

When Erik had first heard he’d succeeded in getting his first major gallery show, Charles had been the first person he’d wanted to tell. He’d come home that night with every intention of telling Charles and then… he hadn’t. He didn’t say anything the next day, or later that week, and then it got to a point where it was weird that he hadn’t said anything, because he clearly should have, and that had made Erik lock the information about his show away like it was a forbidden secret that Charles could never know about.

Today, the day of the show, he’d finally cracked. He needed Charles to be there. He couldn’t imagine the night without him. He was finally showing the world his art, not replicas, not commissions, not what someone else wanted, just his own creative visions as a sculptor, and he was proud to be showing that off to anyone who wanted to look, but the truth was, well the truth of it all was, the person he really wanted to show it to was Charles. 

The thing that had been holding him back, the thing that had almost caused Erik to never tell Charles about the show at all, was the idea that Charles might not like Erik’s work. That all those hours Erik had spent, working in his separate studio space he’d been able to rent this last year because of his success with commissions, all the pieces Erik had created with Charles in mind; that they might not even appeal to Charles was terrifying.

When he’d finally told Charles about the show today, it had been a relief. Charles knew. And Charles had looked… incandescent. He had glowed with pleasure when Erik told him, his whole face alight with happiness. Erik had desperately wished he was in his studio right at that moment so he could capture the expression on Charles’ face in clay, or stone, or even sketch it in charcoal. He’d probably never be able to do it justice, but damn if he didn’t want to immortalize that look – surely no one had ever looked so impossibly beautiful as Charles had in that moment.

“You don’t have to go to the lab?” Erik asked, because frankly, any other Thursday night Charles would have ensconced in his lab work until at least nine o’clock.

“I can miss one night.” Charles shrugged. “I think you may finally be presentable.” He wheeled back and gave Erik an appraising look. “Yes. No lint, no dust, no pieces of god knows what.”

“I should get going then.” Erik was reluctant to go, he’d much rather stay here with Charles, but if there was any night he needed to be timely and professional, it was tonight.

“I shan’t keep you a moment longer.” Charles smiled, looking up at Erik. “This is your night and I am so very proud of you, Erik. I’ll see you at seven o’clock.”

* * *

Charles sat in front of the sculpture and stared. 

The gallery was packed with people milling about, chatting, drinking wine, and gushing over Erik’s work. Charles had arrived half an hour ago, only ten minutes later than he’d planned (which was rather good by his own personal standards), and had yet to see hide or hair of Erik.

He had, however, seen quite a bit of his art and it was astonishing. Oh, he’s always known Erik was talented. He never doubted for a moment that those long, graceful, yet calloused fingers could mold clay into anything they wanted. He’d seen Erik’s sketches, he knew the man had talent. Being in a room full of Erik’s art, large, imposing, never afraid to shock an audience, was another thing all together.

Charles had been stuck in front of this particular piece for ten minutes. He couldn’t seem to make himself leave, and since he was in a wheelchair, no one had had the gall to ask him to move.

“Do you like it?” A deep voice behind sounded behind.

“Do I...” Charles whirled around to look up at Erik, struggling past the lump in his throat. “I...Erik, it’s… gorgeous. It’s gorgeous and profoundly moving, and… is it… this might be ridiculous, it _is_ ridiculous, but is it supposed to look like me?” Charles asked incredulous.

Because the sculpture behind him was a man, a serene, soulful looking young man, leaning against a tree and he might have been any young man, but Charles could see, from his positioning, to the overly thin nature of his legs, that the man sitting on the ground, book in hand was not capable of walking.

“Of course it’s you.” Erik replied, typically blunt and forthright. 

“I’ve never looked half so handsome, of course.” Charles joked.

“You look twice as handsome right now.”

Charles gaped up at Erik, his mouth hanging open. Had Erik just said… he couldn’t have meant… Charles was certainly in love with Erik, and had been almost as soon as he’d moved into Raven’s old apartment with him, but to think Erik might feel something for him… it was simply unfathomable. 

“You inspired every piece here, Charles.” Erik continued. “Every one. I wouldn’t be here tonight without you.”

“Of course you would be! You’re the artist, Erik, not me. If I helped in any way, well, I’m very glad of that, but this, all of this, is you.” Charles argued.

“No.” Erik shook his head and then knelt down so were face to face. “This is for _you_ , Charles.” Erik insisted, taking Charles’ hand in his. “You are my muse. I don’t sit down to make a piece and not think about you, about how you make me feel. I love you.”

“You love me?” Charles winced as his voice broke like a teenager.

“I love you.” Erik repeated and squeezed Charles’ hand. “I know you don’t feel the same way and that’s fine -”

“I feel the same way.” Charles interrupted breathlessly. “Of course I feel the same way.”

“You...what?”

“I love you.” Charles said, and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. “I love you, you incredible man.”

And he reached forward, cupping Erik’s jaw with his hand, pulling him forward and kissing him, slow and sweet and deep.

“So,” Charles whispered when he finally pulled himself away from Erik’s lips, “am I going home with my boyfriend tonight, then?”

“Yes.” Erik grinned his gorgeous toothy grin. “Yes, you are.”


End file.
